


Grounded

by TheTwistedWillow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Dean Winchester, Castiel Has a Crush, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Crushes, Dean Has a Crush, Love at First Sight, M/M, Tattooed Castiel, Tattoos, WIP, making it up as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: Cliche coffeehouse fic where we explore attraction, love-at-first-sight and soulmates. Dean and Cas mutually, but independently,  fall head-over-heels for each other by sight alone. But will they still be singing that tune as they get to know each other?





	Grounded

Working at a coffeehouse, Dean sees his fair share of attractive people throughout the day. And, well, Dean is a people person, so flirting is all in good fun. It’s not like he’s trying to snag every number that walks in the door. Sure, some, but not all.

Okay, so there’s the attractive people, but then along comes a person who is different. This one person who stands out above all the rest. The one who makes you want to stop asking for numbers and actually be loyal for once, and damn proud of it.  
  
They’re the ones who make your hands clammy and capture your breath, and all that poetic mumbo jumbo.

And for Dean, this one person sets him completely off-kilter, in an all-out tailspin. Because, four minutes ago, an artfully disheveled man walked into Grounded and got in line for coffee. And, for no apparent reason, he’s tripped the wire of Dean’s heart.

This one person, whose eyes capture Dean’s from the end of the line, like no one else exists outside of them, is making his heart do crazy somersaults. And one of Dean’s (suddenly sweaty) hands becomes victim to a burn while Dean is scalding milk for a cafe au lait because he’s distracted by this stranger.

Dean steps aside to take care of the burn, surreptitiously watching the man who is reading the menu while waiting to place an order. His chin is tipped up, dark stubble painted across his lower cheeks and neck, eyes sharp and intent wherever they seem to land.

Dean’s eyes roam lower. He’s wearing a fucking vest, of all things, but his fit body fills in the black fabric really, really well. The sleeves of his pale pink dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing colorfully inked skin. And Dean can only imagine what he looks like from behind in the pinstripe pants.

He looks like any other (sexy, handsome) guy, probably with a nine-to-five and mortgage, who comes in. Well, maybe not like all the others considering this is suburbia and this guy here has a lot of tattoos, as well as a septum and lip piercing.

Luckily, or maybe not luckily, Dean is taken off drink duty and put on the register after the whole was-so-distracted-by-a-hot-guy-that-I-stupidly-burned-myself debacle. He’ll actually get to talk to the man.

Dean starts sweating nervously and wonders if maybe he’s confusing an oncoming stomach virus —gut twisting nausea— for some love-at-first-sight soulmate bullshit. All he knows is that his soul knows that it connects with this other soul, someway, somehow.

Dean completely loses his cool devil-may-care edge when the guy reaches his register. Dean’s knees knock, his breath is caught in his throat. And then the guy opens his mouth and Dean feels faint (in a totally manly way) from just two syllables:

“Hello.”

Dean forgets how to _be Dean_ , if that’s possible. He forgets how to smile, how to flirt. He feels tongue-tied, unable to even respond to the greeting, while the unaffected man continues talking.

“Venti iced latte, with an extra shot, almond milk.”

“We don’t have almond milk,” Dean blurts out, when what the man is saying catches up to him.

Perfect, plump lips flatline, turning down at the corner, and Dean feels personally responsible for putting the frown there.

“It’s alright,” the man glances down at Dean’s nametag, “Dean.”  
  
(Dean does not feel a shiver run down his spine.)

“Most places don’t. I thought I’d try here today but soy milk will work, if you have it.”

Dean sloppily writes the order on a plastic cup with a Sharpie. “Name?” Did his voice just crack?!

“Castiel.”

Dean looks up at Castiel through his lashes, lost in deep sea blue, while he tries to figure out how to spell the name without butchering it.

Someone clears their throat, antsy people shift in line, and Dean remembers he has dozens of other people to get through so he quickly scrawls CAS across the cup.

Cas wanders down to the end of the counter to wait for his drink, leaning against a wall and crossing ankles. He pulls a phone out of the messenger bag that is slung across his chest. Dean tears his gaze away from Cas’ scowling face as the man looks at his phone, his deft fingers typing.

Dean gets through several orders, with only a few distracted glances at the stoic man, when he hears Jo yell out, “Cas?” and she sets the iced latte on the counter. She’s too busy to stand there and wait around for customers so she leaves it with a couple of other completed drinks. Dean notices Cas doesn’t make a move.

“Castiel? Order’s up!” he yells over the din.

Cas looks up at the sound of his name but he has eyes only on the drinks, furrowing his brow as he looks at the three perspiring cups on the Formica as they await their respective owners.

He finally wraps a hand around the iced latte and squints at it. Dean wonders if he somehow offended Cas by shortening his name but, as Cas looks at the shorthand, a smile softens his features. Dean is so affected by that one small smile he doesn’t even check out Cas’ ass when the man turns to leave.

Definitely not a stomach virus.

But Dean is not used to these symptoms. People usually pine for him and, not that he’s shallow, it’s rarely the other way around. And he literally knows nothing about Cas beyond what is on the dust jacket.

Regardless, Cas is a book he’d gladly lose himself in.

But Dean’s hopes that Cas’ll turn up again are pretty low. Seems that Cas is on a quest to find a place that’ll serve up a drink with his milk-of-choice.

The rest of Dean’s shift is spent daydreaming about Cas’ lip ring, and then feeling agitated about not seeing him again.

He’s not ridiculous enough to tell anyone why he slams the register drawer a little harder, or why he mops the floor more vigorously than usual.

Dean works every weekday and comes in, some days, before the rooster crows. But he comes in the next morning a little late, a whirlwind of energy in order to catch up.

He’s used to the morning rush after working at Grounded for nearly a year. He almost revels in the high pace and noise, feeding off of it. Which is why he’s awesome at customer care and at being an entertaining little shit when he makes drinks.  
  
His hand only stings a little so he’s back on drinks, making the people who are waiting on their orders smile with the finesse he puts into pouring, stirring and shaking. He winks and gets a thrill from seeing people transform from barely-awake-grouches to ready-to-face-the-day-joys.

He’s telling his current customer, Jess, for the millionth time, “You picked the wrong brother,” because teasing his brother’s girlfriend is part of the Winchester Package Deal. He gives her his best grin and glances away, spying Cas in line. Dean almost drops the drink he’s passing across the counter to her.

“Watch it, Butterfingers,” Jess teases. “I’ll be late to class if I have to go change because you’re ogling some chick behind me.”

“For your information,” Dean says smugly, “I wasn’t ogling any chick.”

Jess mimes French kissing the air, across the wide counter that separates them, in goodbye. “See ya for dinner Saturday, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, get outta here or I won’t get any work done.”

Dean turns to the next order and puts a lot of energy into not burning himself again. Not only is he distracted by Cas, who is wearing fucking suspenders and black-rimmed eyeglasses, but he’s nervous now that he knows Cas is part of the audience watching him. Dean’s drink performances fizzle out.

At least that part is to Jo’s relief because it means that they push out the drinks faster. And then Cas’ cup is in his hands and it’s up to Dean to make it. Dean clenches his jaw and tries to just look at the ingredients and the machines in front of him, and not look for Cas in the crowd.

Once he’s done, Dean takes it to the end of the counter. Instead of doing what he normally does, shouting out a name and stepping away, Dean looks right at Cas and stays at the counter.

“Cas? Order’s up, man.”

Cas, who leaning against the part of the wall he’s apparently claimed for himself, is sucking on the small steel ring in the center of his lower lip. He looks up from his phone, through his lashes and his lip comes away from his mouth shiny and wet.

Dean is transfixed, finally tearing his eyes away to look up into Cas’ blue ones. “Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmurs, fingers almost brushing except Dean has already moved his hand away.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Dean says weakly. “Um, see ya tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Cas says non-committedly, but he turns away with a soft smile.

And that’s how Cas becomes a regular, coming in every weekday for a few weeks. Each time Cas orders, whether Dean is on drinks or on the register, Dean will say, “See ya?”  
  
Dean’s flirting still falls flat when it comes to the man, but they at least reach a comfortable first-name camaraderie. Okay, so maybe the man is still amicably distant, but in Dean’s eyes they’ve got some rapport. Or at least the potential…

He just needs to find a way to get Cas’ attention. And the answer is so simple that it’s a wonder he didn’t think of it a month ago, right after they first met.

Of course, Dean second-guesses himself when he sets his plan in motion. But he becomes too busy to think about it too hard, which means he doesn’t end up throwing up from nerves, a small miracle.

He knows his body is overreacting, and his brain is being a drama queen (king), but he can’t seem to help it. It’s not even really that big a deal...

They have two registers open today and Dean is practically dancing between his two feet when he spies the dark-haired man (of his wet dreams) in the long line. He rushes through customers so fast that Jo gets backed up. She smacks him upside the head as she passes by to get more whatever from the back.

And then it’s Cas’ turn, but Dean is busy with an indecisive older woman, who wants a lengthy description of each drink. After a hesitant look at Dean, Cas goes to Garth’s register.

Dean can’t let the chance pass. He stops explaining to what’s in a vanilla chai to his customer, takes a deep breath and leans over to interrupt Garth. Cas had just rattled off his order, with soy milk.

“Make that with almond milk,” Dean says.

Both Garth and Cas look at him in confusion, Garth’s Sharpie hovering over the plastic cup. “We don’t have almond, Dean,” Garth says slowly, but in kind, like Dean is stupid.

“Yes, we do,” Dean insists. “We do... today. Hold on a sec. I’ll show you.” He tells his customer, who is still squinting up at the blackboard, that he’ll be right back.

Dean goes down the length of the counter, pops open the fridge and holds up the jug of almond milk that he had bought late last night, for Garth to see.

Garth gives him a thumbs-up and says something to Cas, with a hearty laugh, that has Cas looking flustered.

“Jo, use this for Cas,” Dean says, turning to her and shaking the jug. If he doesn’t tell her about it now then she’ll gripe at him when she gets to the order. “I know it’s not our regular gig, but, dietary… restrictions. And all that.”

“Your wish is my command,” Jo says sarcastically, overwhelmed by orders, her cheeks flush with working nonstop. They usually have another person out here but Charlie is out of town and then Kevin called out sick.

“Oh, forget it. I know what he wants. I’ll just make it quick.”

Jo huffs and changes her tune to tease him. “You do that, Romeo,” Jo coos as she passes by for whipped cream.

“Wha— no, it’s not— pssh, it’s just— shut up.” Dean ducks his head so he can focus on making the drink without screwing it up.

By the time he’s done, Cas is at his spot against the wall, so Dean walks the latte down to the pickup end of the counter. Cas is watching him carefully and it unnerves Dean. Cas never watches him after he’s ordered. He always messes with his phone as he waits.

“Uh, here ya go, Cas. Have a good day,” Dean says gruffly, pushing the drink toward the man and hustling away before Cas can say a word. He tells himself it’s because he needs to get back to his register pronto.

But he swears he hears Cas say, “See you tomorrow, Dean,” and his heart soars.

 

+++

A month ago...

 

Cas decides to go to Grounded because everyone says that the service is the greatest. But...

From the moment he steps inside, he knows this is not really his scene. For one, the line is clear to the door when he arrives, which means it is very busy. And loud.

Unrelated, but he had forgotten his glasses so he’s squinting like crazy at everything. And he swears the elderly lady behind him just touched his ass on purpose.

Starting his day with unsolicited fondling, and with such a high level of noise, is just not his cup of tea-- er, cup of coffee. Right before he gives up and makes to leave, he looks toward the counter and sees an Adonis.

At least he thinks that’s what he sees from what he can make out, from where he stands, being near-sighted and all. Cas readjusts his bag and decides he’ll stay since he’s already here. And maybe a little part of him wants to get closer to see if the man --who is flirting and laughing with every woman who comes within a few feet of him-- is as good looking up close as he is from afar.

Even now, as the barista stands in front of a machine, a narrow rise of steam puffing in front of his face, he’s winking at someone. Cas is close enough now that he can see the man’s eyes wander down the line probably wondering, in that pretty head of his, just how much more coffee he’s going to need to make before he can take a break…

And then their eyes meet.

And worlds collide.

At least for Cas, who isn’t used to people actually seeing him. Usually people look through him, around him, over him. People will divert their eyes when they see facial piercings, or tattoos, or become uncomfortable with his ‘unnerving gaze’, as Gabe calls it.

He had expected those eyes to keep moving on, not stop on his face, of all the people in attendance. The barista finally does break eye contact only to let his eyes wander down over Cas’ body… and then the spell breaks. The barista hisses and pulls his hand away from the machine he was using, shaking out whatever injury just befell his hand.

Cas resists the urge to go over and ask if he’s okay. Someone, a blonde barista, is already coming over to look. She gives the man about ten seconds of sympathy, sees that he’ll survive, and then she rolls her eyes before taking over his station, leaving him to go bandage himself up.

No longer able to observe the man, Cas supposes he should decide what to order. He looks up and tries to read the menu, written out in chalk paint between three different, oversized chalkboards that hang above the counter.

And then it’s his turn. He tilts his head down and finds the handsome barista is now at the register and watching him. Gone is the friendliness the man seemed to show everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t even greet Castiel. He just stares, his expression unreadable.

Castiel is used to the judgement so he just places his order, frowning when the man --Dean-- snaps that they don’t have almond milk. It really isn’t that big of a deal.

“Name?” Dean asks.

“Castiel.”

Dean blinks at him.

Ugh, why did Cas decide to stay and get coffee here? Just because of a handsome, flirty barista? What a cliche sap he’s become. Dean continues to stare at him, finally making up something to scribble on the cup.

He’s already paid for it, so Cas goes and stands against the wall, opening his phone to stay distracted. He sends a vague text to his brother, Gabe, about how hot people are either straight or straight-up assholes. Or both.

The female barista must’ve called out whatever joke of a name Dean ended up putting on his cup because he doesn’t hear his name until Dean himself has to yell from clear across the room.

Without making eye contact Cas goes and squints unhappily at the cups…

He picks up the one that is obviously the latte, the only cold drink waiting, and makes himself look at what Dean wrote, about to give a piece of his mind if it says anything remotely offensive.

But it simply reads: Cas <3

His heart skips a little at the sight of the sloppy shorthand and the wobbly cartoon heart. He can’t help the tug of a smile before he hurries out. Maybe Dean isn’t an asshole after all. He _had_ looked at Cas and, now that Cas thinks about it, he didn’t exactly appear repulsed, smug or judgemental. Maybe Dean is merely curious...

There was something there, simmering between them, he’s sure of it. But maybe what he thinks had been the start of some antagony may have actually been something else entirely...

Cas can’t seem to get the man out of his mind the rest of the day as he works in The Crypt. That’s what he calls the history museum basement, where he is carefully cleaning and restoring a mosaic.

It doesn’t actually look like a crypt. It’s very bright, almost blindingly white, but filled with acrylics and chemicals and brushes, like an art studio that clashed with a science laboratory.

As he reflects on the morning coffee run, he has a few epiphanies. First one being that this is the first time he’s thought of a non-family member for longer than an hour.

Second, his thoughts are distracting him from finishing his work timely, his movements more sluggish as he loses himself in...

Third, pretty damn sinful thoughts. About a man who was flirting with all the ladies.

Basically, Dean is untouchable.

That just makes Dean even more intriguing, the forbidden fruit, and Cas makes up his mind to go back to Grounded in the morning. Mostly to show himself that developing something, like feelings, for someone who will never reciprocate is a hard road leading to heartbreak.

But if those kinds of stories don’t make for a more interesting read in all the fables and books, then what does? And maybe a small, sadistic part of Cas is just a glutton for punishment. It’s not every day he’s instantly attracted to a person without anything to base it on.

Then again, he hasn’t really been attracted to anyone he _does_ have anything to base an attraction from.

Cas remembers his glasses the next day and it’s much the same as the day before. Dean is making drinks and flirting. There’s a petite blonde woman giving him air kisses.

Her voice carries and Cas catches the bit about them having dinner on Saturday, to Cas’ disappointment, but this is exactly why he came back. False hope is still hope and now he has none. He should be relieved but he just feels… jealous.

To make matters worse, Dean sees him and seems to lose all the playful charm he had been bestowing on other patrons, Cas effectively putting the other man in a mood and for no obvious reason.  
  
Cas just wants to get out of here. It was a mistake to come back. He half-heartedly places his last order at Grounded and goes to wait for his drink at the other end of the counter, distractedly sucking on his lip ring.

“Cas? Order’s up, man.”

Cas glances up at Dean, gives himself one last look into the wide, green eyes. He murmurs his thanks and takes the cup that Dean had made for him, trying to not think of it as anything special, because it’s not.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Dean says, and there’s something in his tone that resparks the fading embers in Cas’ heart. Something that sounds like nervousness. “Um, see ya tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Cas says, truly unsure if he’ll come back. But at the sight of what appears to be hope in Dean’s eyes, Cas thinks that maybe he can find a friend in Dean, at least. He hadn’t been imagining it. There’s a pull between them, something that draws Cas...

And so he keeps coming back, meticulously cataloging Dean’s mannerisms, tones, and expressions as he waits in the (always) long line. He starts to wonder if Grounded is always busy like this, straight into the evenings.

He’d go crazy with the constant noise. As it is, he doesn’t know how any customers can get work done. But plenty of them fill in the seats and couches with their books, laptops and devices.

But Grounded is growing on him. Dean seems to relax back into his goofy routines as he makes coffee, sneaking the occasional kid a cake pop after he gets silent approval from the parent, and flirting with women until he spies Cas in the crowd.

Today Cas realizes he really likes it here. It feels like he’s a part of the community, a part of a family. Even if he does hold back and keep to himself, he can see it in the smiled greetings of the familiar faces he sees before work each day.

There’s peace here. It makes him feel… grounded.

He knew he was becoming a cliche sap.

Dean is on the register and Cas absently wipes his palms against his favorite plaid pants. It’s almost his turn, and he’ll finally able to greet Dean before he really begins his day. But Dean is busy with someone else when it’s his turn.

He can’t exactly call attention to the fact he’d prefer Dean’s register by telling the person behind him to go on ahead instead. So he casts one longing look at Dean before relenting. Garth is a great person, always affable.

There seems to be a kerfuffle regarding something about almond milk and Cas is somewhat confused. He’s been ordering his latte with soy everyday, for weeks now. But Dean seems insistent.

So insistent that Dean even goes down to the fridge and shows Garth that they have almond milk now.  
  
And then it hits him. The first day… Cas had asked for it.

Dean remembered.

But Dean couldn’t have… there’s no way he…

Garth laughs. “Hoo wee, that boy. He may look like a badass on the outside but inside he’s just a big ol’ soft teddy bear. He must’ve brought that in special.”

Cas doesn’t even know what happens next between him paying and Dean making his drink and then Dean earnestly telling Cas to have a good day.

In a daze, Cas walks out of Grounded with his cold latte, with almond milk, sweating all over his hand. He doesn’t even take a breath until he reaches the end of the block. 

**Author's Note:**

> Had this saved in my drafts here and it was going to get deleted tomorrow so I’m posting it in all its unedited glory. Hope it makes sense. 
> 
> I really just wanted to write about CRUSHES, and tried to recall the things I felt when I liked a guy from afar. 
> 
> Also, I miss my husband’s lip ring so I gave Cas one for that very reason. 
> 
> I’ll come back to add to it soon. I have EXCITING things in the works that I want to finish first. I’m nearly done with a few big stories. 
> 
> ~TheTwistedWillow~


End file.
